Why We Should be Grateful for the Messy Election, Hate-Filled Climate and Dire Forecast
Thank God Donald Trump decided to throw his hat into the ring of fire. How else would we have known the level of despair we were all engaged in?
How else could we have been assured of the fact that our neighbors and co-workers not only have a fucked up view of the world — but also feel exactly the way the guy running for president does. They have an agenda and you’re not a part of it.
They want America to be great again.
But, this land is not our land and it never will be. It doesn’t belong to anyone. We sing the anthem and stand at attention — and it feels like we’ve equated our civic duty with the honorable stance that bloats our status as law-abiding citizens of a generous country.
But, the truth requires a lot more than we are willing to pay. Only the wealthy can afford to be greedy fucks with mansions on Capitol Hill and on the hillside of swanky enclaves. The poor have to contend with the information that will never save their them.
If you don’t understand this, you must peep the glorious bastards that run our system into the ground. It is portrayed with infinite wisdom by acclaimed filmmaker Ava DuVernay in the documentary, 13th. The film hammers the final nails into the coffin of knowledge that used to open sporadically but thankfully now stays agape on demand.
We are all agape on command.
The antichrist has arrived, and you are in full surrender. The poison is spreading and we act as if we never saw it coming.
We conduct ourselves with awe as the virus overtakes the web and the corners of the streets that we avoid. We fight battles on and off the courts of delirium.
We repost, retweet, redo and re-arrange the antidote to our sanity because being crazy is so much more trendy.
We lied to ourselves eight years ago when the Black savior with the backing of the powerful and the weak, assumed the throne of authority. We thought it was because of the unity of peace and goodwill filtering through the zones of repentance.
Now, we know that it was a pact amongst giants.
The political landscape is secured for bobble heads like us — that nod to the rhythm of whatever beat allows room for cultural improv.
How fitting that the very first Black president of the United States is bearing witness to the end of times.
The streets are lit with full-blown hatred. Just hours ago, a GOP office in North Carolina was bombed to smithereens. The words “Nazi Republicans” was spray painted as a badge for the message that is resoundingly bothersome but definitely comforting.
It’s good to know that fiery hoodlums have the spirit of emotional dislodgment to stage a coup but, it’s sad that it has to be delivered with bombastic venom.
We like that shit! We thrive on it.
The lies stop here. The messiness that has enveloped a process that should be treated with dignity, care and consideration is devastating in its big reveal. Racism has never been a secret that hid beyond the tales of woe, but, now we are faced with the realization that this practice is deliriously obsessive.
As the days wind down, the battle of wills reach a higher tempo. The Black man in The White House needs to vacate immediately, so that the new occupants will have enough time to scrub their new abode clean.
The gunk from all that washing up will spew out and stain the masses. The result will not pose any threat to our existence or well-being. We are already disgustingly permeated with the recollections of the past and the flailing future.
Do we not want to be equipped enough to live as cowards and die with the heroic brand of the revolution?
We’ve seen the renderings of a crowd, over-wrought with the pleasures of self-expression. We hear the trumpets sound on command each time the formula of murder and mayhem evacuate the path for the guilty and the betrayed.
We should be thankful that we have two opponents that remind us of how much we’ve lost and how much more we will lose after the horror show ends its national run.
You were the star of this massive hit — and yet you have nothing to show for it except the fireworks that herald your entry into the abyss of your own understanding.
We will not win. He will not be destroyed. She will not save us. You will not be better.
This diagnosis was never a challenge to employ. It just took way too long to initiate.
Now, that permission has been granted and we know how fucked up we are — and how that shapes what we will never be — there is only one thing to do.